by Beth Ciotta
She ignored the knee-melting warmth of his touch and shot him a perturbed glare. “Stop patronizing me.”
“Do you want me to investigate this alleged murder or not?” he asked calmly while slipping on his sunglasses.
She bristled at the term alleged, but bit back a snarky retort. “Frances Slocum State Forest. The birdwatcher’s lookout.”
“Where’s your bike,” he asked out of the blue.
“In Max’s barn. I ditched it because those goons were chasing me. I think it was them, anyway. It could have been a random black car, but I wasn’t about to take chances. I lost them, or whoever, when I jumped the road and cut through the field, but they know my bike. At least, I think they do. I winged my helmet at one of them and…” She trailed off. God, this sounded ridiculous.
“Where are your glasses?”
“I lost them when I tripped and fell. I didn’t bother looking for them since I was running for my flipping life.”
“Can you see?”
It was sort of like looking at the world through a fogged-over windshield. She fidgeted in her seat, shrugged. “Well enough.”
“Well enough to risk driving?”
“Did you miss the part where I said I was running for my flipping life?”
He slid her a look over the rims of his Oakleys. “So you got that welt on your cheek when you fell?”
She touched her fingertips to the wound and frowned. “No. I got lashed by a tree branch when I was—”
“Running for your flipping life.”
Blowing her top wouldn’t be productive, so she focused on stroking Shy’s sleek body. She’d read somewhere that petting animals promotes calm. She’d probably pet the poor dog bald before reaching Zen.
“Listen, Jack. I know I had that big meltdown at Boone’s. I swore I was going to shake things up in Eden and I’ve been trying ever since. But I swear to you, I’d never pretend I witnessed a mob hit just to create a sensation. Although…I didn’t witness the actual murder. And, I guess, technically it wasn’t a hit. They were after the finook’s money.”
“The what?”
“Or maybe it was finock. No. Fenick.” She rubbed her temples. “Some Italian word.”
“You know Italian?”
“Obviously not.” She resumed petting the dog and leashed her runaway emotions. Those goons had scared the crap out of her. She’d been high on adrenaline for almost an hour. While racing Red Rover into town, her imagination had spun a dozen awful scenarios, but she hadn’t imagined those legs sticking out of a trunk or the ski-masked thugs giving chase. She’d prove it, too. There’d be evidence to back her story. Tire tracks. Signs of a scuffle. Maybe even blood. Soon enough, Jack would be scrambling to apologize.
“I’m sorry for doubting you, Kylie.”
“You should be.”
“Finook is slang for gay.”
Of course, Jack would know Italian. Or at least mob-speak. He’d worked Homicide. He’d worked Little Italy. Kylie glanced sideways. “Gay as in happy-go-lucky?”
“As in homosexual.”
“Huh.” She mulled over the possible clue. “So that means the stiff wasn’t from around here.”
“You can’t know every citizen’s sexual inclinations, Kylie. Some people keep those things private.”
“Eden’s a straitlaced town filled with straight people who lead Adam and Eve sex lives, Jack. Unless someone was in the closet big-time. Given Eden’s gossip mill, I can’t imagine how anyone could keep something that juicy a secret.”
“Then you’re naive.”
“Maybe you’re just cynical.”
“Tell me what you saw,” he said, not debating the issue.
She collected her thoughts, then spewed the story. To Jack’s credit he didn’t roll his eyes or interrupt. When she finished, her blood was pumping as though she’d tangled with the goons two minutes earlier instead of two hours.
Jack flexed his hands on the steering wheel. “Just want to make sure I heard right.”
Here it comes. “Go on.”
“They killed a guy, a guy who owed them money, because he spit on the first goon’s shoes?”
“I know it sounds crazy, but Bruiser number one sounded like he had an obsession with expensive shoes. Or at least he paid a fortune for those particular shoes. The dead guy, too. He was wearing Salvatore Ferragamo’s. I’ve only ever seen them in a catalog, but they’re distinctive. Anyway, unless he scored them at an outlet, they probably set him back five hundred bucks. I’m all for superior quality, but a shoe like that? It’s more of a status thing.”
“You couldn’t make out the license plate number,” Jack said, “yet you noticed the make of a pair of shoes?”
“I always notice shoes. Plus, they were hard to miss, sticking up in the air like that. As for the plate number, I told you, the goons were standing in front of it.”
“But they moved when they heard your voice.”
“They did. But I was already backing away and my view was obstructed by foliage. Then I lost my glasses and everything got blurry.”
“Ski masks, huh?”
“They had accents, if that helps.”
“What kind of accents?”
“Kind of like the guys on Omertà.”
Jack raised a brow.
She cringed. “Okay. So, I’ve seen the show. I was curious. It’s the talk of the town—aside from Spenser’s show. Although I have to say I don’t get the appeal. I couldn’t even make it through one episode. It’s too violent. Too…disturbing. I don’t want to think that people are capable of that kind of barbaric behavior. I don’t…”
Kylie trailed off when she caught Jack clenching his jaw. She thought back on something he’d said last night. He wouldn’t talk about his work in New York as a homicide detective because he didn’t want to put that stuff in her head. Well, crap. She’d just confirmed his assumption that she couldn’t stomach whatever had contributed to his burnout.
A switch in her brain flipped and suddenly her thoughts centered on helping Jack conquer his demons. Maybe not this minute, but she at least needed him to know she was able.
“Not that I’m a wimp,” she said, scrambling to do damage control. “In fact, ask anyone. In a crisis situation, I’m a rock.” When Jack didn’t comment, she rolled on. “I’m not sure where I get it from, but when I need to be strong for a loved one, I’m flipping Hercules.”
Still no response.
“I’m just saying I could be there for you. I mean, if you ever needed me. Needed to talk. About…anything.”
Jack focused on the road as they neared the state forest. “Are you saying I’m a loved one?”
A fire ignited in her cheeks and blazed through her body. Why, out of everything she’d said, had he glommed on to that? “Are you making fun of me?”
“Definitely not.”
“Teasing me?”
“Trying to understand you. This. Us.”
“Oh.” She didn’t know how to answer. “Why?”
“Because it’s complicated and I don’t want to fuck it up.”
“Oh.” Wow. Feeling vulnerable and insecure, Kylie concentrated on the passing scenery instead of the man who made her insides squishy. She’d been in love with Jack for what seemed like forever. But did she love him? As in reality-based love? As in for-better-for-worse-for-richer-for-poorer-in-sickness-and-health love? Did she even know what that kind of love felt like? Although she’d been ready to marry Bobby, she knew now that she’d fooled herself into thinking they were the real deal. If she couldn’t have Jack, Bobby would have to do, because no one else was a contender and she didn’t want to be single and childless forever. Now Bobby was gone and Jack was here. Surely her feelings for Jack weren’t motivated by a young girl’s fantasy and a grown woman’s ticking clock?
Three seconds of intense soul-searching told her, no.
Jack’s the one. He’s always been the one.
Even so, she was reluctant to confess undying love. He was
right. This was complicated. And she was too pragmatic to throw caution to the wind.
“Here’s the thing,” she said, growing more uncomfortable by the moment. “In the light of day, in the frustration of this moment—you doubting me—this thing between us…what happened last night…it’s surreal. I crushed on you for so long, Jack…I’m having a hard time reconciling fantasy with reality.”
He parked his SUV alongside the bird lookout, took off his sunglasses and tossed them on the dashboard.
Sensing trouble, Shy hopped into the backseat.
Jack released Kylie’s seat belt and pulled her into his arms. He kissed her. Sweetly, softly. Then with an intensity that sizzled her brain. His possessive touch burned her skin and branded her heart. When he eased back, she swayed.
Kissed dizzy.
Wow.
Jack quirked a tender smile. “Did that help?”
She had to think about the question, then laughed—an odd combination of nerves and elation. Even though her vision was fuzzy, she could see the caring expression on his gorgeous face. “No, it doesn’t help. Jeez, Jack. I can’t think straight when you kiss me, heck, when you look at me like that, like you want me—”
“I do want you.” He brushed his thumb over her kiss-swollen lips. “I know this is strange, Kylie. After all these years…” He blew out a breath. “Trust me. This is real.”
Her heart danced, but thoughts of a dead man in Italian loafers crashed the party. “If we weren’t parked near the spot where some poor man met a hideous end less than a couple of hours ago, I’d jump your bones, Jack Reynolds. Right here, right now. In broad daylight. But…” She glanced nervously about as a new thought occurred. “What if they’re still around?”
“Knowing you’d report the crime? Assuming cops would investigate?” Jack told Shy to stay, then nabbed his sunglasses and opened his door.
It occurred to her then. He hadn’t broken any speed records getting here. Even now, he was taking his time. “You still don’t believe me.” She hopped out of the SUV before he could answer. She was a lot hurt and a little mad. She’d show him.
“Skirt your actual path,” Jack said as she started down the hill. “If there are footprints—”
“Oh, there’ll be footprints,” she grumbled, then faltered. “Oh, no.” There were footprints, all right. Dozens of footprints and…tire tracks. Skinny tires. Bicycles. Kylie frowned when she heard delighted shrieks and peels of laughter. Kids.
Two boys on mountain bikes whizzed past them, jumping obstacles and weaving through trees. They’d traveled up and down the hill who knows how many times, obliterating any signs of Kylie’s flee for her flipping life.
“Okay,” she said, swiping her newly cut bangs from her forehead. “Never mind the running-for-my-life part. There’ll be plenty of proof of foul play at the actual—”
More laughter. Voices.
Oh, no.
Kylie rushed toward the noise. When she arrived at the actual scene of the crime, her heart officially sank. A pickup truck with a camper was parked almost exactly where the black sedan had been. A van and a car were parked nearby. Two or three families swarmed the area setting up mobile grills and tables. A picnic? A family reunion?
Just. My. Luck.
She looked at Jack. “This isn’t good is it?”
“Nope.”
“Contamination of a crime scene?”
“Yup.”
“Maybe we’ll still be able to find something. Like blood or…a shell casing or…” She grappled for a term Jack could relate to.
He smoothed her hair from her face. “I’ll take a look.”
He was mollifying her. Again. But instead of getting miffed, she felt unsettled. He had no reason to believe her wild claim, but he was still willing to investigate. She swallowed a sentimental lump and gestured back up the hill. “I’m going to see if I can find my glasses.” Given her crummy luck of late, Jack’s search would be a bust. No blood. No bullets. If she could just locate some piece of evidence. Anything to support her story.
Just then Shy trotted around the trunk of a tree with something dangling out of her mouth. Had she jumped out of the open window to catch a rodent? Eww.
Kylie approached and squinted closer. “My glasses!” Giddy, she stooped and retrieved her black frames. They were bent and dirty but not broken. “Good girl!” she said, ruffling Shy’s head. “Not for disobeying Jack,” she clarified, “but for being an awesome search dog.”
Shy barked, announcing someone’s approach.
Kylie turned, relaxing when she saw Jack. “Look!” she said, springing to her feet. “Shy found my glasses. It proves I was here.”
“Never doubted you on that score, hon.”
She frowned. “You didn’t find any evidence of foul play.”
He shook his head.
“I knew it. Just my luck those families—”
He cut her off with a raised hand. “I want you to consider something.”
She folded her arms. “What?”
“This town is obsessed with Omertà. Folks have memorized dialogue, scenes. They spout the slang, read related books. Maybe you walked in on an over-the-top role-playing game.”
“Are you kidding?”
“Just consider the possibility. Remember the stink over those kids who went overboard with Dungeons & Dragons?”
Who could forget? Five boys from Jack and Spenser’s sophomore class. Fantasy role-playing gone amok. A boy had died. One of Eden’s biggest scandals. Kylie massaged her temples. “But they threatened to kill me. They chased me. At least one did.”
“Maybe they just wanted to scare you. An innocent bystander sucked into their game.”
She hated that Jack’s scenario sounded more plausible than hers. And in truth, a similar thought had crossed her mind, as well—two obsessed locals pretending to be wiseguys. Dang.
“What would two East Coast mobsters be doing in a provincial Midwestern town?” Jack asked reasonably.
Looking to shake down a finook was the obvious answer. It was also far-fetched. The stuff movies and TV shows are made of. She must’ve looked as miserable as she felt because Jack pulled her into his arms and held her tight. He kissed the top of her head. He stroked her hair. It was an intimate, protective embrace. He didn’t believe her, but he was giving her the benefit of the doubt. Genuine kindness, not mollifying.
“Here’s something else to consider,” he said, still holding her close. “If a wiseguy wanted you dead, you’d be dead. Trust me on this, Kylie.”
His somber tone sent a chill down her spine. Clearly his observation was linked to experience. Logic told her he was right. But it had seemed so real.
“Come on.” He guided her up the hill, whistled for Shy to follow.
Kylie shoved on her bent frames. Even though the world cleared, her brain felt fuzzy. Had she mistaken fantasy for reality? “Where are we going?”
“To buy you a cell phone.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN you can’t find him?”
“He wasn’t at the hardware store. The shoe store’s locked tight and we searched his house. He’s not here, Chickie.”
Carmine resisted the urge to hurl the phone against the putrid green wall. Seeking calm, he looked past Dixie, who was sitting in a nearby chair tapping away at her laptop, and focused on the white clouds floating outside his private room’s window. Aversi had promised to release him from the hospital by day’s end given there were no complications. Carmine had things to do, mistakes to rectify. He couldn’t afford any cardio flare-ups. “Maybe he’s food shopping. Maybe he’s visiting his wife’s grave. It is Sunday.”
“Thought about the cemetery,” said Mario. “We found the headstone for Mona Martin, but no sign of Uncle Tommy.”
“You mean Travis,” said Carmine. “You’re looking for Travis Martin, you jamook. And he doesn’t look exactly as we remember him.” Carmine had never seen the
end result of the plastic surgery. None of boys had. But surely family would recognize family. As for Buddah, he’d never met Tommy in person, but he’d seen pictures. “I heard they couldn’t fix his nose. You’re looking for an olive-skinned man with a crooked nose.”
“Yeah. I know.”
Carmine heard the heat in his nephew’s voice. That kid had the most unpredictable temper in the family. Carmine was in no mood. “Put Buddah on the horn.”
A second later, his even-keeled consigliere spoke. “Yeah, boss.”
“Between the e-mail Tommy sent to the Vespas about Olivia’s death and the info we got from the e-mails that McGraw broad sent to Dixie, we know my brother has been living in Eden as Travis Martin for the last fucking seven years.”
“Rest easy, Chickie. If he’s here, we’ll find him.”
“He’s there.”
“I don’t know how he stood it.”
“Stood what?”
“Living in this hayseed town. I tried to buy a cup of espresso. Forgettaboutit.”
Carmine couldn’t imagine being cut off from the food and people he loved. Paradise in the Heartland must have been Hell on Earth for his brother. It was beyond time to end his misery. “Find him. But don’t make fuckin’ spectacles of yourself while you look. Be discreet. Blend.”
“Consider us smoke.”
Carmine hung up and glanced over at Dixie. Worried sick, she’d refused to leave him last night, so he’d had one of the boys bring over the computer to keep her occupied. Instead of yapping his ear off, she’d focused on her Web site and played games. Mostly she’d been content. Just now she looked white as a sheet. His heart tha-dumped. “What?”
She licked her glossed lips, looked at the screen, at him. “You ain’t gonna believe the e-mail I just got from that shoe store owner in Eden.”
KYLIE REGRETTED TYPING the e-mail as soon as she hit Send. Pushing away from her great-grandfather’s desk, she stood and paced circles around the tiny office in McGraw’s Shoe Shoppe. She had to let this morning’s saga go. Jack had her mostly talked into the possibility of the role-playing scenario. She had to admit, it made more sense than mobsters in Eden. Relatively calm, she’d asked him to drop her at McGraw’s after their shopping excursion. In addition to a cell phone, she’d purchased a new pair of glasses—trendy black rectangular frames accented with bright flowers. Jack had called them cute. Kylie thought them daring. They also cleared up her blurry vision, important when attending to details. She had a lot to accomplish before the grand opening. Jack had needed to return to the station house to follow up on his sister’s case.
